admin April 24th, 2008
I have a dear friend who I very much enjoy, though we are in many ways opposites. She always looks put-together. I clean up well but usually spill something on myself in the course of a meal. She is tall and curvy. I am not. She shares the mysterious female psyche, and I like my male friends often have no idea how inputs match the outputs. But she is fun. And we have known each other a long time. And I can be completely myself around her – my goofy, extroverted, say what I am thinking self. And most of the time we really enjoy ourselves.
But she has some issues.
She does not do well with stress. It seems she has a “personal crisis” at least once every couple of months. She’s volatile. Sometimes she will be terribly hurt by some esoteric action or comment, which the offending person has no idea has transpired. She does not do well with criticism and she is the world’s longest holder of grudges.
Also
She has attended over 20 weddings, many as the maid of honor, and now several baby showers. She is the ultimate hostess, but never the guest of honor. She has never had a real boyfriend. She has never had sex. There is nothing she’d rather do than be a stay at home mommy with a loving husband and a couple of kids, but she’s pushing 30 and there is nothing going on in that department. She sees everyone else getting what she most wants, and she’s just not getting it.
So she asks me, “What am I doing wrong?” And the thing is I know what she is doing wrong. I could give her a list that would put her well on her way to having a great time, to finding someone special, to attracting those special people to her. I could actually help my dear friend find what she wants most.
But I don’t do it.
I don’t do it because I know that it would kill our friendship. Even if she ended up following my recipe exactly, all ties would be cut. I would have hurt her so badly, that she would never forgive me. So I keep my mouth shut, and watch, hoping that she’ll find her way in the dark as so many of us have done successfully, watching her bump around a room and never quite finding the door.
And in some ways I believe that this is her responsibility. This is her life, and I am not required to step in and repair it. But what are friends for, if not a helping hand, a voice of reason, a safety net, at new perspective? And I’m the honest friend. The one you go to if you actually do want to know if those pants make your butt look fat, or if you really are not sure about that guy or that job or those people down the street. Who else will help her rescue herself but me? And I don’t do it. I don’t.
Selfish and chickenshit.
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